Potential

My life is no different than any of yours. I wake up every morning to go through same routines. I eat the same food as you do, and I associate with many of the same people as well.

We are among the lucky ones of this world for many reasons, though. We have loving families, we have a warm shelter over our heads, and we are receiving an education. This may not seem like much, but if you think of the 1 billion people in China, or the children in the Middle East who are on a war front, or children in Africa who wonder each day if they will find something, anything to eat, then you start to appreciate what you've got a little more.

However, our potential is not limited to our circumstances. Of course, if you have never seen, or even know what a piano or a cello is, you aren't going to be a Mozart at it the moment you pick one up. That's the point of potential. It takes work and practice, and sometimes, the opportunity just never presents itself to start learning an instrument, for example. Potential's definition is: capable, or able of becoming; not: master at being.

Knowing this, we can strive to pursue any path to discover our potential. Sometimes, it's easy for us to see that our potential may not lie down a certain pathway. But sometimes, we can't be the judge for ourselves. For example, when I was still taking piano lessons, I was always asking my mom to let me quit. I would moan and pout and try to practice as little as possible, but my mom saw something I could have never seen as a nine-year old. She saw my potential. She knew that I couldn't just quit because she saw that I excelled in that area. Luckily, I never did quit, and I am so grateful for that, because look what has happened since:

One thing we need to understand about potential, is that it never comes quickly. It doesn't happen overnight, but it happens with years of work and practice. Potential is a goal, not a hole. (Haha I just made that up!) What I mean by that is, you work for goals, and you work to dig holes. But when you look back on your work, goals get you places in life, and holes just get you stuck. Your potential will never get you stuck in life, (unless you use it for illegal practices) but will always help you wherever you go, and even impress people along the way, saying, "Wow! Look at how much effort went into his/her talent."

However, it isn't just about us. We need to look out for those around us as well, because they have potential too. Believe it or not, those African kids I mentioned earlier have potential as well. They may not have your opportunities, or your resources, but they won't have the same potential as you, either. Maybe their potential is to be a leader, and they gain those traits throughout life. Maybe their potential is to look out for others, and they learn to do so by caring for their family and friends. But, like I said, you can't achieve your potential by yourself. Would I have ever come to my skill level in piano had it not been for my mom? No, in fact, I probably would have quit. We need to be that person in someone else's life who can see something in them that they may not be able to see. We need to be that person who says, "Come on, don't give up! Keep pushing through, because when you look back, you will surprise yourself at how far you've come."

On a last note, it's fun to reach for your potential once you've found it! Because along the way, you can show people how far you've come, because talents like yours are not meant to be only for you. Your talents can bless and help and inspire others to find their potential and grow their talents as well.

The goal I have been striving towards since last summer (2012) has finally been met, which was to release an EP on iTunes, and I am very proud of myself! If you haven't seen or heard, it would please me very much if you did. Thank you for reading my blog yet again, and have a wonderful day!

My Words

Hey guys :) (I always seem to start these posts with "Hey" or "Hey again" or "Hi." It's too mainstream. AHHHHHH!!!!)


...Anyways. If you have been a reader in the past, (or have gone and looked at my older posts) you may have seen my top ten list on words that I think should be words. Well, I enjoyed that so much that I think I'm going to keep doing that! Also because I have nothing better to post about. So here we go!

Words That Should Be Words

Volume 1

Shenga: (Shen-guh) verb - an alternate form of belly-dancing where one never actually even reveals the belly or any other body parts. The dancing is all done by jello in front of the abdominal area.

Nok: (Nock) noun - a large fish in a rediculously small lake.

Defarndo: (Dee-farn-doh) noun - an old man's name, more commonly found in Italy.

Hujujuju: (Hoo-joo-joo-joo) adjective - pertaining or referring to the mysterious aura surrounding drunk people.

Biguantionimrod: (Big-oo-an-ti-oh-nim-rod) noun - a rare breed of rock-fish that live on land, disguised as rocks. Found: everywhere.

Juhstenbeebrr: (Juh-stin-bee-ber) noun - impossible to define.

Heliobeliomeliocrakakaelio: (He-lee-oh-bee-lee-oh-me-lee-oh-crack-uh-crack-uh-ee-lee-oh) verb - to break every bone in one's, or another's, body by hitting them with an iced over water balloon.

And that does it for volume one's new words! Tune in next time for more words! Thank you, and goodnight.

My Personal Narrative

Alright folks, I think it's high time for another entry, don't you? ;) So for my English class at school we were given the assignment to write a personal narrative about a story in our life.

I chose to write about a traumatic experience I had as a child that involves a steep hill, rocks, and two children on bicyles (one of which was me, if you hadn't guessed). If you want to spend three minutes reading it, here you go. BADABING.

Personal Narrative

            It was a hot summer day, the kind of day that you find yourself wishing for winter just so it would cool down. A gentle breeze was blowing the leaves on the trees back and forth, and I enjoyed listening to them rustle. It was just enough to tease me that I might in fact cool down, but of course I didn’t. So instead of relying on the breeze to refresh me, I had an ice cold lemonade in my hand. I looked forward to every gulp because it chilled my throat and restored my faith in summer.

            It was back when I lived in my old neighborhood; the one where my block only had ten houses. Back when I only went to school for half of a day, and when I was as wild as the wind and as carefree as any kid would be at seven years old. It was the time when we played Ghost in the Graveyard every night, but were still home for our 8 o’ clock bed-time.

            I loved that time.

            I was sitting in front of my house with my lemonade when I saw Chris coming over. Chris lived two doors down from my house, and he was one of the many kids my age on the block.

            “Hey Chris.” I said.

            “Hey, wanna play?” Chris smiled. I knew that he had been pretty bored lately, and so I said yes. “So… What do you want to do?” he asked.

            “Why don’t we ride bikes?” I suggested. That was always a popular activity in our neighborhood, and Chris enthusiastically agreed.

            We rode around our block about ten times. Racing, chasing, doing “stunts,” etc. But of course, us being kids, we soon got bored because of our short attention span. We needed something new. Something extravagant. Something… awesome. And that’s when we knew what we would do.

            The Hill.

            Now before I go on, I have to explain a few things. First of all, this wasn't just any hill. This was The Hill. It was a winding road that went up on about a 45 degree slant, had houses along each curve, and was extremely dangerous for two seven year old boys on their very own “two-wheels.” For some reason, all the kids in the neighborhood, including me, chanted, “We’re going down the Cherry Falls, we’re going down the Cherry Falls!” every time we drove down it. Why we called it the Cherry Falls, I still have no idea. Its’ shorter nickname was “The Squiggly Hill,” and the Squiggly-Cherry-Falls-Hill was what we were going to conquer that day. Oh yes, and one more thing. Since we were seven years old and knew that we were invincible, weren’t wearing any helmets.

            After arriving at the top of the hill, we looked at each other as if to say, “I am so ready for this!” But, right before going down, we simultaneously decided that we probably shouldn’t be riding in the middle of the street. After all, that was dangerous. So once we had made that decision, we went over to the left sidewalk and prepped for take-off.

            Five…Four…Three…Race you to the bottom! And we were off.

            Looking back, I realize that the second most stupid thing we did that day, besides not wearing a helmet, was peddling downhill. But oh man, were we flying! It was such a thrilling ride. We became the wind as we weaved down the Squiggly Hill, practically soaring on our bicycles. Yes, we were Speed itself. That is, until Chris hit a crack in the sidewalk.

            All I remember from that moment on is blurred. I can see Chris tumbling over the front of his bicycle. I can see him lying face down on that big rock. I remember a lady running out of her house to help him up, and I remember accidentally running into her back and flying off my bike as well. I remember sitting dazed on the sidewalk while the lady carried Chris into her house. I don’t remember Chris ever screaming. I think he might have passed out. There was blood everywhere, and I was still sitting with my bike a few feet from me on the sidewalk. Surprisingly, I only walked away with a few scratches. I must not have landed on my head like Chris did.

            I remember being told later that day that Chris’ mom had freaked out when she heard what had happened to us, but strangely enough, I don’t remember my mom’s reaction. I’m sure I was grounded. Chris’ mom had called an ambulance the moment she heard about our accident, but apparently the ambulance was a little too slow getting there, and so she drove Chris to the hospital herself, putting towels down in the back seat where he was so that the blood didn’t get in the car.

            A week or so later I was standing on the street corner waiting for something. I don’t remember what it was, but that’s when I saw Chris again. He was walking up the street toward me, and he didn’t look too different except for his bruised face. When he got closer however, I saw that there was a little more than just some black and blue.

            “Hey, Chris! …What’s up?”

            “Hey man,” he replied.

            “So, how many stitches did you get?” I asked.

            “Thirteen,” he replied.

            He told me a while later, once he had had enough time to laugh about the experience himself, that his forehead had apparently been gashed so deep that the doctors could see his skull.

            Since that time, I have never ridden back down the Squiggly Hill on my bike. Even though I wasn’t injured, the story will definitely stay with me forever.

This Is What We Do

We go day to day Thinking.

Addressing, speaking.

Anything we believe,

We know we can achieve.

The world around us passes,

And we look on.

We go day to day Wondering.

Finding, pondering.

The things that we find,

Are never left behind.

As the world around us changes,

We stand firm.

We go day to day Dreaming.

Hoping, bringing.

The light that we shine

Illuminates the minds

Of the people in

The world around us.

We go day to day Growing

Planting, sowing.

We assist the weak

Who struggle to speak

In a world around us

That is much too loud.

We go day to day Smiling.

Trying, winding.

The cogs that turn on

In the gears far beyond

The world around us

That spins too fast.

We go day to day Hearing.

Standing, nearing.

Our hearts listen for

The tear drop on the floor.

The world around us cries,

But we can help.

We go day to day Living.

Soothing, giving.

Our parents taught us

Now we will teach them,

The world around us has

Innumerable Gems.

We go day to day Knowing.

Teaching, flowing.

Experiences we've had

To help others avoid the bad

In a world around us

Where the black turns to grey.

We Think,

We Wonder,

We Dream,

We Grow.

We Smile,

We Hear,

We Live,

We Know.

This Is What We Do.

~Trevor Howell

Hey. It's been a while.

Well, welcome back faithful blog readers. (Laugh)

It's been a while! Where have I been? Well lately my life has been the high school musical, just like it always has been twice a year. (Not High School Musical, THE high school musical.)

Unfortunately I have nothing to post, and so I devote the next five minutes to writing whatever comes to the top of my head. Then I'm off to eat some turkey.

Ready... Set... GO.

Lava lamps are what drive, not cow dung. Simmering soufle of brown substances are fed to me on a silver platter in the middle of a very large dining hall.
Uh.
So Scungilli, we meet at last. FOR THE LAST TIME. ~Bszheeew waaaahw mwaaooow~
Proceed to cliff face. Enjoy the view but don't pick the weeds.
RAMALAMALAMA KADINGIDDY DINGADONG. TOGETHER FO-EVAH LIKE SHUUWAHP BUDOO LABBY YIPPIDY BANG DI BANG.
Now that we are on the subject of music I will have to ramp up the bass. Prepare to take flight. No seriously. I'd hold on to something.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWW
So. How did you enjoy that? Ok well eat my beanloaf. I make a beanloaf nice. BEEEAAANLOOOOAF. NICE.
I love Pokemon. Especially Dragonite. He boss man. So is Gyrados. And... and... Oh look, a talking squirill. Make way folks, I'm coming through.



Whew! Ok. I'm done. Well I don't really know what just happened there, but I have a feeling when I read back on this post in like, a year, I will probably either die of hystaria, or imagine how freak-like I must have been to write something like that.

BIE.

My Favorite Year - Character Bio

So for every show that we do at the high school, we have to write a character biography. Which is actually kind of fun! Since your character usually doesn't have a lot of back story, it just means that you get to make up a bunch of random junk and call it your character's biography!
So for this show, my character's name is Rookie Carroca. This is the first time I have been a semi-important character in a show, and so I did have to follow at least a little bit of back story. However, that mostly just comes in the last paragraph. The rest is just my wild imagination. Enough of it, anyway, to fill a Times New Roman, 12 pt. font, single spaced page. And so I decided I would post it on my blog, since I have nothing better to blog about! Enjoy people!

Rookie Carroca

            Rookie Carroca was born in the providence of Puerto Rico. His father was Enjolras Guadalajupe “Rex” Carroca, and his mother was Jill Smith. She didn’t want to change her last name because Rex insisted very highly on rolling the R’s in his name, and she absolutely could not roll her R’s for the life of her.

Rex Carroca was actually a famous Puerto Rican jockey, and he rode a horse named Sun Tan like a king. At all of the races, Sun Tan was the main horse people bet on. However, at one race when Rookie was only seven, in mid-stride, Sun Tan keeled over and died. Just like that. Not only were the fans who had bet on Sun Tan severely disappointed that they had lost their money, but Rex Carroca’s right leg had to be amputated because when Sun Tan had fallen over, his leg had been trapped and all circulation had been cut off immediately.

Needless to say, this event drastically impacted Rookie’s life. His father no longer had a job! The Carrocas were soon out of money, and they were evicted by their landlord. To feed his family, Rex had to sell his trophies. Sadly, they weren’t worth much at the time he sold them because everybody was still upset about Sun Tan’s disappointing loss, and all twelve of his trophies only bought enough food to feed his family of three for a month. Jill was distraught. Would the bread earning responsibility now fall upon her now that her husband was a cripple? She decided that, inevitably, it would. And so, a mere five months after her husband’s accident, she ran away.

With Jill’s disappearance, Rex didn’t know what to do. Everything he loved was slowly being taken away from him. Everything, except for his little Rookie. But what could an amputee do for his seven year old son? He decided that the best thing for him was to be taken care of by someone else, because he knew that he couldn’t provide for his son. And so, Rex sent Rookie away to a family friend to be taken care of.

What was Rookie thinking through all of these events? All of these events slowly hardened his heart and he soon had a very dreary outlook on life. And so, he would often sneak out into the town at night to pick a fight with a gang leader, or just people that happened to be in his way. When the family he was staying with found out about Rookie’s secret excursions, they wondered what they could do to help this poor child, and they decided that a cooking class was the best option, and so, Rookie began to learn how to cook. And he loved it! Gradually as it had hardened, Rookie’s heart began to soften again, and his view on life began to be a little more cheery, however the past was still there, and he couldn’t forget it no matter how hard he tried.

When Rookie was 20, he had worked hard enough to earn enough money to move out on his own, and so that’s what he did. Always cooking gourmet meals for himself, Rookie was very well fed. Soon he decided that he needed a better way to make money than what he was already doing (which was sweeping streets), and so he took up fighting again, which he excelled at as well, and soon made it to the Bantamweight competition. He won that, and held the title for six whole months! As well as gaining the Bantamweight title, he had earned a significant amount of money, and so he decided to move out of Puerto Rico. He moved to Brooklyn, NY in America where the Bantamweight competition had taken place because he had liked it there. And who should he find but one of his admirers! And a very attractive admirer, at that. Her name was Belle and they were married three days after having met. Since Rookie had so much money from his fighting career, he quit fighting and decided to just cook for the rest of his life. The End.

I Wish

I wish you had been there too, when the sky burst open and the stars fell down. And I wish we could have seen the brilliant scene of the vivid summer sound. Oh I wish that one small hiss of the trees and rooftops made you spin around; I wish you had been there too, when the sky burst open and made me drown.

I wish now that we could have found the space between the lines we were supposed to read. Summer came and went, and I'm to blame. But it's all the same because I'm still not free. I wish seasons changed the reasons I had to keep so I could reach the ground. I wish you had seen the view of the sky erupting, and the stars gone down.

I wish I made up my mind, because I can't rewind time. The days I have all left behind are past now. I'm looking for signs.

I wish to stay, though I'm bound to fade. Come and find me - I'll stand out. I wish we had caught the sea, 'cause the memories make it hard to doubt.

Oh I wish I had made a list of the things you do to flip my frown, and I wish you had been there, too, when the sky burst open. . .


And the stars fell down.